


King of the Mountain

by pyrchance



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Slice of Life, Tickling, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrchance/pseuds/pyrchance
Summary: Gerard's fingertips itch when he looks at Frank, even after the luster has worn off.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	King of the Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> Another fill for an anon writing ask on tumblr. You can find me over there @pyrchance if you'd like. 
> 
> The word was Gargalesthesia - The sensation caused by tickling. 

Gerard shakes his head out under the gas station tap, cold water trickling down his t-shirt to wet the hem of his jeans. He kicks the bathroom stall when he’s done, hearing the door rattle and something inside moan.

“I told you not to buy that sandwich,” chides Gerard.

Ray gives him a muffled groan from inside. “It looked healthy!”

“It was probably three years old and sneezed on.”

Ray just groans again, then makes another series of noises that leaves Gerard wrinkling his nose and walking out. He catches Mikey on his way in, toiletry bag tucked into his armpit and pajama pants slung low on his skinny hips.

“I wouldn’t,” Gerard warns. “Ray ate something nasty at the last stop.”

Mikey grimaces but shakes his head. “Can’t wait. I’m disgusting,” he says. His hair is looking a touch flatter than even normal. Mikey’s eyes narrow. Gerard leaps back just as his brother makes a swipe at his head. “Please tell me you used shampoo this time. No offense, Gee, but you smell like something died.”

Gerard pushes him. “It’s my new image,” he says and actually, it _would_ be kind of cool to take the stage as zombies. Gerard thinks costumes sound cool. If he could just get the other guys on board. Really, if he could get Ray on board…

“Gerard!”

Mikey sounds so convincingly like their mom, Gerard straightens automatically. “What?” Under Mikey unimpressed stare, he wilts. “Oh, come on, Mikey. I use soap!”

“What kind?”

“The free kind.” Gerard waves a hand around. “I don’t know. It’s pink.”

“What free kind? Wait, are you talking about the _bathroom_ soap? You put that in your _hair?_ ”

“Uh,” Gerard backs away slowly, “yes?”

Mikey lunges forward, no doubt trying to drag him back into the bathroom of doom. Gerard shoves an elbow back and goes running—okay, shuffling quickly—back to the van.

They’re in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Iowa and the gas station stands as the only bastion of civilization in an otherwise flat and empty world. Gerard fucking loves it. It’s like a scene out of a Miyazaki movie or something. What New Jersey had never prepared him for was what the sky looks like outside of the city. Half-way across the deserted parking lot, Gerard gets distracted by the Milky Way spilling out above him. He nearly trips over a curb, fingers tingling for a pencil or charcoal or something the way they always do when something scares him. He wants to capture it.

It’s nearly midnight. Gerard’s turn in the driver’s seat is done. Judging by the way Ray was moaning, it’s going to be a least a little while before they’re good to go again. Either way, Gerard’s got claim on the backseat and a few hours of sleep.

He opens the side door with his fingertips still itching only to draw up short at the sight of Frank’s socked feet hanging off the backseat. He’s strewn over the bench seat like a deflated muppet, mouth open, limbs askew, torso bent and twisted around a pillow only half under his head. 

Gerard feels murder ignite in his hindbrain.

Here’s the thing. Gerard sort of used to watch Frank with a kind of envy that is hard to explain. Frank was the guy with the band while Gerard was just the loser in the basement drawing comics. Frank was friends with everyone while Gerard was just Mikey’s awkward brother. Frank could spit on a crowd and have them lean in for more while Gerard needed to fill up on alcohol before he could waddle himself on stage. Sometimes, Gerard doesn’t know whether he wants to _be_ Frank or—or something else.

He doesn’t let himself finish that thought usually. Certainly not while Frank is drooling happily with his feet inches away from Gerard’s nose.

Luckily, actually living with Frank has scrubbed some the luster off. The real Frank, Gerard has learned, is _annoying_. He’s obnoxious and smokes to much and laughs like a hyena at three in the morning when other people are trying to sleep and the joke isn’t even that funny. He’s a really picky eater, has just about no concept of personal space, and seems to be making it his mission to use Gerard as a step stool every chance he gets.

So seeing Frank asleep in Gerard’s spot isn’t just frustrating, it’s revenge worthy.

Gerard is a plotter. He plans his attack meticulously.

The feet are an obvious target, but Gerard has never taken the straight road once in his life. He climbs as stealthily as he can onto the middle seat, surveying his conquest closely. Frank’s turned half on his side. The bottom of his t-shirt has ridden up, revealing a strip of pale skin. The is distracting for a number of reasons, but also just happens to be the perfect target.

Bingo.

Gerard goes in for the kill.

In big brother language, this can only mean one thing—tickling. Not tickling in a soft, haha-sort of way. No. Gerard digs his fingers in deep and attacks only with the intent to torture until Frank pisses himself, stops breathing, or surrenders.

Frank awakens with a start, but Gerard is not an older brother for nothing. He crams his fingers into Frank’s stomach as the Frank twitches and screams, coming alive with enough noise to surely get them kicked out of the gas station parking lot.

“W-What the—what the actual—stop— _stop!”_

Frank is wheezing. Hands bat at Gerard’s fingers like Gerard hasn’t been perfecting this technique for years. When Frank curls up, attempt to fetal, Gerard gets his fingers into his back and runs them up his spine until Frank is wheezing so badly Gerard lets up only enough for Frank to jump out of the van and flee.

Gerard is _immensely_ satisfied.

He climbs over into the backseat, sighing happily when his takes his place on the still warm cushions. He flips the drool covered pillow over, fluffing it a moment, before settling his back against it.

Outside of the van, bent over his knees, Frank looks up and croaks, “What the _fuck_ , Gerard?”

“My turn for the backseat,” Gerard says. “You probably want to get out anyway. I doubt Ray will want you smoking in the van this late at night.”

Frank is delightfully angry. It’s a bit like watching a kitten puff up. “I was asleep you asshole,” he spits.

Gerard shrugs. He reaches under the seat until he finds his bag, sliding it out and unzipping it, searching for wherever he’d put his sketchbook.

A hand touches his leg. Gerard rears back and _kicks_ before Frank’s fingers can reach his knee. He looks up, unsurprised to see Frank half-way into the van, looking vengeful.

“Try again, fucker,” Gerard grins, eyeing the way Frank is eyeing him.

“I could just lick you,” Frank says, still not moving, perched like he’s going to dive in. “I bet that would make you move.”

Gerard scoffs. “Please, I grew up with Mikey. Try _again_.”

He says it in the same way he used to warn Mikey off the last pop tart or (when they were younger) away from his comics. He says it in the same way that stopped him from being a sad, bullied weirdo in school, just a sad, weird kid. It’s always worked before.

What Gerard forgets is that Frank is an only child and therefore basically feral when it comes to the rules of combat.

He turns back to his bag to dig through it. His fingers curl around his sketchbook at exactly the same time he feels something wet and…slimy run across his neck.

His hand comes up automatically to smack Frank away. Frank takes the distraction to launch himself over the middle seat, landing with full force on Gerard’s stomach with his knees and knocking the wind out clear out of his body.

Gerard manages to look up just in time to see a truly devilish smirk overcome Frank’s face, before he straddles Gerard across the hips and _digs in_.

Gerard shrieks. He’s not ashamed. Being tickled fucking _sucks_. Gerard slaps back. He isn’t graceful about it. Frank clings on like a limpet though, moving on to Gerard’s armpits like that’ll disable the blows.

Gerard rolls. Frank isn’t expecting this. He loses one knee to the gap between the seats, which is just enough for Gerard to sit up, grabbing Frank’s hands to prevent further attack.

It results in a rather weak cold war. Neither Frank nor Gerard are willing to relinquish their grip on the other’s hands, too afraid of another tickle attack. There’s lines on Frank’s face from his pillow still, but his eyes are wide away and gleaming.

“Not such a tough guy now, huh?” Frank jabs.

“Just you wait,” Gerard promises, feeling only a little foolish as he wiggles his toes, wondering if he can’t use his free feet to his advantage.

He pauses there. Maybe Mikey was onto something about the soap. Gerard is in his twenties. He really shouldn’t be living like this.

Slowly, very slowly, he releases one of Frank’s hands. He draws his own back, palm up, seeing Frank’s shrewd gaze flicker between his face and his hand.

“Truce?” Gerard offers.

Frank’s mouth bends suspiciously. “You attacked me first.”

“You were hogging the backseat,” defends Gerard. “It’s my turn.”

“No way, Gee. The moral high ground is mine. You could have just, like, shook me or something.” He squints his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. “Admit it. You shot first.”

The nerd in Gerard immediately perks up. Is Frank saying that Gerard is the Hans in this situation? Gerard is never the Hans. He’s not even the Hans when he dressed up like him for Halloween. He’s just another nerd who really should invest in a Chewbacca costume or, better yet, a gym membership.

It’s enough of a compliment for Gerard to consider a concession. Albeit, a _small_ one.

“Fine,” he says, slowly releasing Frank’s other hand. “I guess we can share.”

Frank blinks at him for a moment, before something funny crawls across his face. “Gee, are you offering to be seat buddies with me? Wait, are we on the bus together now? Am I supposed to give you my fruit roll up at lunch?”

Gerard rolls his eyes. Great. He’s triggered Frank’s obnoxious button. He’s _already_ regretting this.

“I meant for like an hour,” Gerard amends quickly. “One hour tops. Then I’m using this whole seat just for me to sleep.”

Frank is already shoving Gerard’s feet out of the way, flopping his ass onto the backseat and throwing his arms across the back. “Whatever, man. We’re seat buddies now. That’s ride or die for life.”

Gerard shakes his head. He feels his mouth twitching and forces the smile away. No need to encourage him.

“You and I went to very different schools, I think,” he says.

“Nah, you just hung with the wrong crew,” Frank shoots back. “You ought to join a band, I think. There’s some cool dudes in bands. That should fix it.”

“Is that what worked for you?” Gerard asks. He curious a little despite himself. He’s always wondered what it would feel like growing up bouncing between bands like Frank has.

Frank smiles back at him, wide and easy, like all this is so simple. He gathers up Gerard’s feet from the floor and places them in his lap, patting his shins. “Yup. Lucky for you, you’ve got me now, kid. Bus buddies for life.”

It feels a bit like tripping. The spit is cold from where Frank’s licked him and Gerard shivers, suddenly remembering the expressions on the faces in the last crowd when just last night Frank spat on them. It feels big, whatever this moment is. Too big for Gerard, who ducks his own head into his chest.

Frank just pats his shins again gently, smiling like he holds a secret.

Gerard’s fingertips itch.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments fuel the soul…and the writing muscles! :)


End file.
